


Moments

by Brennah_K



Series: Moments [1]
Category: Criminal Minds, Harry Potter - Fandom, NCIS, Sherlock - Fandom, Smallville, Supernatural
Genre: AU, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse (Fic: 'Need-based"), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse (Fic: 'Need-based"), Works Up for Adoption
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-07
Updated: 2015-04-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 16:29:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3495185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brennah_K/pseuds/Brennah_K
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Any post to "Moments" is up for adoption, but I would appreciate a note at some point when you post because I'd like to read how the final story turned out. (BTW, I promise to never criticize your interpretation of the 'prompt' or idea).</p><p>For the moment, though, my other wips aren't unless specified in their summaries. I'd like to see my way through those if I can.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Table of Contents

* A Bridge Over  
The driver paused for a minute, giving Lex the impression he was trying to search for the right wording before he gave another huff and explained, "I guess the easiest way to say it is: there are only two kinds of kids that stay in Smallville - the ones who weren't changed by the meteor shower ... and the ones who end up down Old Butler Road."
  

* In the Morning  
Alice Cullen's visions cross with another's and change both the future of her family and the wizarding world.
  

* A Spark of Something Like Life  
"We have art in order not to die of the truth." Friedrich Nietzsche  
No one comes from war away untouched, but Minister Shacklebolt has a plan help Harry and Draco recover from differently manifesting cases of PTSD, which have caused both men to withdraw from society and former friends.
  

* Uncertain Trust  
Draco gets to see the negative effects of Harry's fame, years after the fact.
  



	2. A Bridge Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For someone with as keen insight as the young Lex Luthor was often portrayed as having, in Smallville, it often seemed to me that he would have understood Clark's fears a little better and been more careful in how he pushed Clark for the information. To me there were aspects of their first meeting that could have added nuances to this if the writers had decided to go that direction. Most of the time, I try not to have a character just up and tell major plot points, but here's a scene that I thought it might work in if I did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a side note, by the way, I truly loved how Michael Rosenbaum played Lex and don't think I would have even thought there could have been more to Lex without having seen how Rosenbaum played the character.

Lex waited impatiently for the tow truck driver to finish securing the demolished Spider for transport to the plant, choosing anywhere else to look than at totaled vehicle. Somehow though a rainy grey sky, moss covered oaks, and muddy banks of a dam's spillway were not the most attractive view when one was thoroughly soaked, shivery, and valiently attempting to not notice that he fairly reeked of tainted river water and algae. The facts that the thick flannel blanket wrapped around him only barely cut the fragrance and that this was how he was going to be first introduced to his future employees at the plant ... did little to improve his mood. 

He would have probably been grinding his teeth, if they weren't already chattering slightly. 

The dull grey-green-ivy-yellow blend of leaves and foliage surrounding them utterly failed to distract Lex from the real reason for his mood. It wasn't the anticipation for his father's immanent lecture on his continued irresponsibility or the likelihood that his father would probably use this as an excuse to exile Lex even deeper into the backwoods in a out of the way subsidiary that it would take Lex decades to set to rights instead of the years he'd anticipated it taking to get the Smallville plant profitable again. Nor was it the loss of the Lambourghini, being just one of his collection and not his favorite. Nor was it the accident in and of itself. 

It was Mr. Kent's obvious disdain that rankled Lex the most. Where his son had seemed unnaccountably kind and compassionate, risking his own life to save someone he didn't know, Mr. Kent - despite having never met Lex - seemed easily ready to declare his son's actions a mistake just on the basis of Lex's last name and had even bristled at Lex's attempt to thank the teen. If this was the attitude he could expect from everyone in Smallville, perhaps he should take his father up on the chance to go elsewhere. Clearly, Lynol's previous dealings in Smallville had done little to win the benefit of the doubt for his father (or anyone with the same last name).

"Come on up!" The tow-truck driver ordered, having apparently finished, though the wreck was still only partially out of the water. 

"Certainly, you're not going to drag it the entire length of the trip to the plant."

"Naw, I' got more to do, but you're looking like the worse side of a wet dishrag, and the wind's picking up a bit. It'll be better for you in the cab than standing out on the grass in your bare feet, so up you get. There in the dash, my wife's packed a sandwich and a block of cheese for lunch, and I've a thermos of coffee by the console. You get started on those, and it'll help take the chill off. I'll probably be done before you can finish 'em."

Lex couldn't fault the logic and appreciated the way the man offered it, without the condescension his father would use or a tainted pity for "city-bred" weakness that he'd come across more than once in rural areas. He still hesitated though, well aware that the river water had probably absorbed into the flannel blanket by this point and would likely get soaked into the man's seat cushions as well. The driver was insistent, though, and held the door open, giving Lex enough of a look at the inside for him to realize that some water on the seats wasn't likely to matter that much. 

The inside of the cab looked... well... "lived-in" was the kindest phrase that Lex could think of to describe the damage that had been done to the dash, upholstery, and carpet over years of use, by grease covered hands, stained boots, and lack of upkeep, which seemed odd given that the driver, at least initially, gave Lex the impression of being the kind of person who generally took care of the details. He had certainly appeared to be taking great care with the positioning of the chains around the Spider and had double checked the winches and pulleys as he'd extended the chains. Still, those were the tools of his trade, so there was a margin of logic that would argue he might take better care of them than his general surroundings. Nevertheless, with an instinct that he rarely questioned, but didn't always understand, Lex felt like there was more to the story than that. 

"There ain't nothin' in there to bite you," the driver sighed with exasperation and reached past Lex to push a jacket, pile of newspapers, and other debris aside too quickly for Lex to identify what else might have been there. 

Instead of debating the point, Lex offered a small 'Thank you' and climbed in. The driver still wasn't done though and - holding the door open - stared pointedly at the glove compartment until Lex reached over and opened it, barely catching the plastic wrapped sandwich and checkered napkin that had been shoved inside. From the weight of the napkin, Lex could tell there was probably a block of cheese wrapped inside as well as something else. 

As if doubting Lex's ability to remember his earlier suggestion, the older man ordered, "You eat that, then get the thermos over there. My Belle makes my coffee stronger than you're probably used to, so be sure to eat some of the sandwich first, but it's the coffee that'll warm you up." When Lex still hadn't started eating, the man shook his head with a scowl and added, only half-teasing, "I expect you'll know how to work a thermos, yeah? That you twist the lid off, and keep it nearby to use as your cup?" When Lex nodded, he went on, "I wan't to see half of it gone when I get back." 

His tone was almost parental, but Lex - surprisingly - wasn't struck with his usual urge to rebel against a parental tone. But, then, unlike Lynol's imitation of a parent, the man's advice sounded natural and sincere. It didn't hurt that he wasn't given the chance to even get a rebellious comment out as the man shut the door with a firm, solid, locking-sound that wasn't a slam, but just short of one. 

Following the man's precaution, Lex unwrapped the sandwich and bit into the sandwich. It took some chewing made from dense, clearly-homemade bread, thick slices of ham, tomato, onion, and cucumber with a sauce (that he didn't quite recognize but that kept the bread from making the sandwich too dry), but was rather quite good. Eating it one-handed he turned his attention to the napkin. It was only knotted loosely, so it didn't take much work to get it open, revealing the mentioned (plastic-wrapped) block of pale, almost ecru-colored cheese and what he thought might be a pastry of some sort wrapped in tin foil. Setting the pastry aside, Lex unpeeled the wrap from the cheese block and broke off a thumb-width piece, gave it a quick sniff to see if he could guess the flavor group it belonged to, and popped it into his mouth with an appreciative sigh when the flavor matched its pungent, earthy scent. A chedder.

"Yep," the driver chuckled, having opened the driver's side door to climb in as he continued, "My Belle has never needed to compete in any of those baking and cooking contests at the county fair. Her food's always been good enough to speak for itself, didn't need a ribbon to prove it."

Lex had to swallow the combined bite before he could answer, but he easily agreed, "It is very good, Thank you." 

"Keep eating it, then. You're not quite halfway there, yet." The man answered and turned to look over his shoulder as he turned the engine on and started the wench to lift and maneuver the destroyed car into place. 

Intently ignoring the slight flush of embarrassment that rose at the man's light taunt, Lex shook his head but continued eating until the sandwich and most of the cheese was gone. By the time he'd finished that, the driver was satisfied with the spider's placement and turned back to speak to him, but seemed to spot the tin-foiled. 

"That's just the thing. Bless Belle." The driver commented, grabbing the pastry right out of Lex's lap and popping the door open before he could react. 

To Lex's astonishment, the man popped the truck's hood, and through the slit made by opening the hood, Lex watched as the man dropped the pastry directly onto the top of the engine manifold, with the motor still running. After several seconds, he flipped the pastry over, and then less than two minutes later, grabbed it, dropped the hood with a loud clank, and climbed back in handing the pastry to Lex, who was staring at him in bemusement. 

"Here, get that thermos up, and pour yourself a cup. That pie won't stay warm all year." The driver ordered as he started the engine and focused on towing Lex's car back out onto the road. 

"Pie?" The question slipped out almost on its own as Lex balanced the warmed pastry on his leg and twisted the lid off the thermos. 

"Yep, she calls 'em 'part-pies' cause she uses just a part of an apple, butter, and the other what-not folks use in pies, but just in a smaller amount, and wraps it in crust and foil so it's easy to heat an easy to eat. Even when I'm driving. You try it, with that and the coffee... well, it won't make things any better, but you'll feel a sight better about things, and that can help as much as anything sometimes."

The driver's parental tone had returned, but Lex couldn't fault his logic, knowing from experience that sometimes the only difference between success and failure was someone's mindset. Aside from that the driver's courtesy had gone a long way toward easing the sting of Mr. Kent's rudeness. 

Somehow, seeming to have guessed the directions of his thoughts, the older man slowed the truck as they got back onto the approach to cross the bridge, and turned to look at Lex, his expression truly solemn for the first time since the man had arrived and started to work. There was something searching in his gaze, and Lex - having no clue what the man might be looking for - just waited for whatever decision he would make. 

Finally, the driver sucked in a deep breath and let it out in a long, quiet huff before he let Lex know what he'd been thinking about: "If you're still thinking about the way Jonathan was actin'... Well, try not to set too much store by it. He just learned something no parent around here wants to know, and I don't know many who wouldn't be shaken by it."

"I'm sorry, but that doesn't make any sense." Lex protested, not entirely ready to be persuaded out of his irritation toward the man, despite his gratitude and curiosity about the man's son. "His son just saved my life. I really don't see how that justifies his behavior. He practically implied that Clark (?)," the drive nodded, confirming the teen's name, and Lex continued, "that Clark shouldn't have saved me." 

"I know that's what it seemed like," the man answered, then shook his head. "That's not what it was about, trust me." 

Lex must have looked skeptical, though, for the driver sighed, and after glancing into his rearview mirror and up the road, got on the truck's cb and warned anyone who might be approaching 'Loeb' bridge that he'd be parked on it for a few minutes. Clearly expecting Lex to follow him, the driver climbed out and walked over to the edge of the bridge, leaning on the rail about fifteen feet from where the accident had happened. Curiously, Lex followed, bringing the coffee and pie with him for lack of anywhere better to put them. When he reached the bridge, the driver started talking, without glancing in his direction. 

"What I'm gonna tell you might not make sense, you not being from around here, but it'll be easy enough just looking a few years back in paper for you to look into and see the truth of it."

"Okay." Lex agreed; it was already his habit to double-check anything he heard before he knew someone well enough to trust the person. 

"Well...," the driver paused for a minute, giving Lex the impression he was trying to search for the right wording before he gave another huff and explained, "I guess the easiest way to say it is -'there are only two kinds of kids that stay in Smallville: the ones who weren't changed by the meteor shower ... and the ones who end up down Old Butler Road."

"What?" Lex asked somewhat shocked. He never forgotten the meteor shower, but hadn't ever considered that he might not have been the only child caught out in or affected by it.

Mistaking the direction of his question, the driver explained,"Only thing out Old Butler Road is..." 

"The cemetery." Lex finished for him, having remembered the reference when he was looking over the lands adjacent to plant properties and considering the possibilities of long term expansion. 

"Are you saying that Clark's sick?" Outside of baldness, the only other affect to Lex -as far as he knew- had been increased immune system... but wasn't Cancer considered the affect of a malfunctioning immune system?

"No, most don't get sick, though."

"Then how?" From the man's expression, Lex felt like the answer should be obvious, but perhaps he'd had suffered a slight concussion or shock from the accident. If anything, he was usually very quick at picking up subtext and allusions. 

"I expect, being a business man, you've taken a look at the town maps and have a fair idea of how to get around town and the general lay out the place?"

"Yes." Lex agreed easily 

"So you know the only things out this road are the plant and the dump?"

"Of course." 

"Okay, then, which way's the high school? And town? And the hospital?"

It took Lex a moment to get himself turned around in terms of map locations, but once he had, he pointed toward each of the locations he was asked about in varying degrees of West and South West. 

"Right on all counts." The driver praised, almost sounding amused, but the amusement dropped from his tone as he carried on with his point, "So ask yourself this, when the Kents live about twenty some miles past the hospital, and his high school and town are in that same, general direction, what business did he have being out here?" 

As he finished, he slapped his hands on the rail, and Lex's thoughts instantly flashed back to the first moment he could remember seeing the teen leaning up against the rail, his hands gripping the rail in front of him - as if he was about to climb over. 

"You don't think? You think he was trying to kill himself?"

"Well, he may have just been thinking about it. I didn't know how long my boy, Lonnie, had been thinking about it before... took reading his diary to find it out."

"Your son...?" Lex asked, his throat suddenly dry and tight. "Was he... had he been affected, too, by the meteors?"

"Yeah, don't know how it all works, but it doesn't always work out wrong. For my Lonnie, it didn't, it gave him this way with machines. He could just listen to them run once, and he'd just know where something was wrong with it. He'd said it was almost like hearing whatever it was complain about being hurt. It came in right handy."

"Then why... did he suffer from depression or another form of ..." Lex asked, trying to understand, even though he knew that he was asking incredibly personal question. 

"No, nothing like that, most of the time, Lonnie was a happy child, sort of happy go lucky, especially when he could be working on and fixing things, but... I'd said that the meteors' changes don't always turn out wrong?" He waited for Lex's nod before he continued, "Well, there've been plenty of times they did go wrong, and folks around here have gotten rightly afraid of those that have been changed. Enough so that ... well, they don't make it easy on the ones who are. A'lot of the kids raised here who were changed had to up and leave because they couldn' get a job or loans to start up or keep their family's land running. School ain't easy on them either, especially high school. That's when it went bad for Lonnie, not over anything he did either, but he just hadn't been careful enough and other kids found out. His junior year, though, what did it was being picked as their 'scarecrow'." 

From the tone of finality in his voice, Lex sensed that it was the end of his story, but he still had to ask, "I'm afraid I don't know what that means. That he was picked as the scarecrow?" 

"Well, I don't know what you were planning on doing to say thank you to that boy or whether you were going to, but if you want to do something for him... something that will really matter - instead of getting him some kind of a thank you gift; why don't you see if you can catch him when he's out and about, be friendly, and see if you can't just make friends (from what I've seen, he's friendly enough). Then, when things are more comfortable between you, see if you can't get him talking about who he thinks might be this year's scarecrow and what he was thinking about coming out to the bridge. My Lonnie might be alive now, if he'd felt he had someone his own age to talk to, instead of feeling weighed down by everything he was afraid to talk about and didn't wanna worry Belle and I with." He paused for a minute staring out over the spillway before continuing, "Just a word of advice, though, anyone raised around here knows that some secrets ain't meant to be talked about, so it might be harder than you think to get him talking, and there are somethings he probably won't ever say... not to you and not to anybody. Just take it into account and know it ain't about you- it's about what this place and what that meteor shower did and still does to people." 

They stood there in silence for several seconds, staring into the churning, murkey spillway before the driver nodded back to his truck. 

"We'd better get that thing moving before someone else needs the road; it's narrow enough as it is."

Their broken silence returned after they climbed back into the tow truck and stayed until they reached the plant; each man lost in their thoughts. Lex asked the driver to stay for lunch, but the man declined saying he was sure that the food they'd "catered up for his shindig" was good, but he was happy enough with his wife's cooking and if he left right then would get home in time for dinner. 

While he was waiting in his office for the suit clothes being sent over from Luthor Mansion, Lex considered everything they had discussed, what his quick bit of research had turned up, what possible options that left him... especially given Mr. Kent's clear antipathy toward him. Finally, after discarding several ideas, Lex looked up the Kent's number. 

When a woman answered, Lex offered, "Good Afternoon, Mrs. Kent. My name is Lex Luthor. I don't know if your husband has had the chance to mention that your son saved my life today. I'm truly grateful and wanted to thank and reward him for the courage he showed in doing so, but felt that neither you nor your husband would feel it would send the right message if I gave him something of monetary value. I was hoping that, as an alternative, I could ask your permission to stop by your home two to three times a week - under your supervision - and tutor your son. I have Bachelor degrees in Chemistry, Physics and Mathematics as well as Masters degrees in Biochemistry and Business Administration."

As they spoke, he easily picked up her hesitation and repeatedly underscored that the tutoring meetings and material would be under their supervision. Of course, he planned for there to be other meetings, but the most effective way he knew to undermine someone's ill-will was to give the person perception of control and a benefit for maintaining a relationship. It might take a while to convince them of his good will, but at least it was a foot in the door that could smooth the way to a genuine friendship between he and Clark.


	3. In the Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Twilight Scene-let from a Twilight/Harry Potter x-over that never made it to the writing stage. 
> 
>  
> 
> Warnings: AU, Twilight/HP Crossover. Implied Pre-Slash. Character Deaths.

Summary: Alice Cullen's visions cross with another's and change both the future of her family and the wizarding world.

Sniffling lightly as she wraps her arms around her love, Jasper, Alice tries to make herself forget the vision that had just woken her more forcefully than any nightmare in her memory. Sensing his mate's distress, Jasper tightens his arms around her shoulders and pretends to sleep as she had asked him to - almost pathetically. 

She has not explained why, but the air of deep longing and mournful misery that she has been exuding from the moment she came out of her vision with a helpless cry warns him that in the morning she would be making an announcement that might mean a long or perhaps even permanent separation between them or from their family.

"In the morning," she agrees to his silent assumption with a dry restrained note- trying for the first time, in as long as he's known her, to hide her emotions from him.

\- - -

In the morning, Alice will be getting up, packing a small duffle for her and Jasper, and sending a thought to Edward that he needs to do the same. After straightening her bed, she'll go downstairs to tell Esme, Rosabelle, Carlisle, and that she, Jasper, and Edward had to go overseas to England to Wizarding London, where they'd meet with a young man, who before the year was out, will likely become the newest member of their family... if he survives. She will warn them that they absolutely cannot follow the three to England without ensuring that one or more of them would be seriously injured if not killed.

Just before they leave, she'll take Carlisle aside, kiss him on the cheek, tell him she loves him, and palm a letter to him that he is to give Jasper when he and Edward return - without her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The fic, as I'd plotted it, had a couple of turning points:  
> 
> 
> * Jasper, Edward, and Alice would have arrived in England under Voldemort's control in the last stages of the wizarding war. 
>   
> 
> * Shortly after arrival, Alice is struck down by Bellatrix for refusing to align with Voldemort and assist them in tracking Harry and Hermione, who are still on the run. 
>   
> 
> * Jasper is was injured in Bellatrix's attack and apparated away by one of the death eaters intent on torturing him later, prompting Edward to go on a hunt for him - taking out as many death eaters as he can on the way
>   
> 
> * Jasper is in the Malfoy's dungeon when Harry, Hermione, and Ron are captured.
>   
> 
> * Jasper, despite being badly injured, manages to control his bloodlust when confronted with the tortured and bleeding Ron and Harry. 
>   
> 
> * They are all saved by Dobby who apparates them to Shell Cottage before dying.
>   
> 
> * Edward, trying to locate and save Jasper, tracks Voldemort and crew to Hogwarts during the final battle and joins up with Harry, Hermione, Luna, Jasper, and Ron who are in the tunnel as Severus is attacked and on the edge of being killed. 
>   
> 
> * Edward picks up Severus's last thoughts and finds that he can't stomach letting Severus sacrifice himself, so 'saves' Severus by biting him before he dies completely.
>   
> 
> * After Harry defeats Voldemort tired of battle and Britain he decides to take Edward and Jasper up on their invite to return with them to Forks.
>   
> 
> * When they returned, Carlisle gives Jasper Alice's letter in which she tells him that she wanted him to move on with Harry, who's only a friend at that point, but whom Alice assures him in the letter, is his soulmate .


	4. A Spark of Something Like Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another little start of a fic that never really made it to the writing stage. This one would have focused on the use of art to help Harry and Draco recover from differently manifesting cases of PTSD, which have caused both men to withdraw from society and former friends.

Summary: No one comes from war away untouched, but art - if given reign- has the power to heal even the most troubled souls.

_We have art in order not to die of the truth.  
Friedrich Nietzsche_

The last person - the very, very last person - that Draco Lucien Malfoy expects to see on his doorstep was Ronald Weasley -- Senior Auror Ronald Weasley - who attained the senior rank in his mid-twenties solely by the odd fate of being one of the few aurors to have survived the war. In the three years since he had last seen the auror, when the man had visited Azkaban to inform him -with some relish- of his father's execution, his mother's subsequent - presumed natural (but very suspicious) - demise, and the ministry's resultant 'sympathetic' release, Draco has more than complied with the Ministry's parole requirement that he cut ties with former associations.

He has, in point of fact, cut all ties: with his former associates, with his remaining relatives in France, and with the wizarding world in general. He does not even venture out for supplies, choosing instead to owl order anything and everything he needed. As a result, he was quite certain that Weasley was not disturbing his brunch to investigate his participation in a plot or untoward event; although, that does not preclude Weasley maliciously investigating him simply on the basis of some lingering animosity.

"Auror Weasley," he greets his former schoolmate with polite apathy, stepping back in mute invitation.

Weasley, as an auror, could -at will- insist on an impromptu search of Draco's residence or other property, without cause; so there is really no point in antagonizing the ever-volatile red-head by having him stand out on the doorstep any longer than necessary.

"Malfoy." Weasley retorts as if Draco's surname was an insult in and of itself and asks suspiciously, "Where's your wand?"

"On the luncheon table, on the lenae," Draco answers dryly.

"You expect me to believe that you answered your door without your wand?"

Draco does not shrug. Etiquette lessons from early childhood had eliminated the plebeian habit before it had ever developed, but his utter stillness in expression and stance is as close as he ever comes to the gesture.

"The ministry still controls the wards," Draco comments in a breath that's not a sigh, but nearly one for the quick release of breath that follows it, "and would have screened any guests that I might wish to invite, had there been any. Anyone else who apparates within the wards would be from your offices or otherwise approved by the ministry, and I am not inclined to make it easier for any of your over-eager recruits to hex me for drawing a wand on them."

Draco can't quite enjoy Weasley's wince at the unsubtle reminder of the junior auror who had hexed him as he was being released- claiming that Draco had pulled his wand in a threatening manner - only to discover that the 'senior aurors', Weasley and Finnigan, had not yet returned Draco's wand, nor removed the blocks on his magic. As always thinking of that morning brings back the lingering sense of dazed numbness that had surrounded him for days after his release that only ebbs when the auror speaks again.

"Okay, fine. Are you going to let me in or not?" Weasley huffs.

"Yes, yes. Come in." Draco does sigh this time, turning his back on Weasley and walking into the room several feet to give the auror an unobstructed view of his hands, which he holds out from his side with his palms forward.

"May I offer you some tea, Auror?" Draco asks with careful courtesy, "I was just sitting down to brunch on the lenae."

"Er... Yeah, okay. I have time for it." Weasley hedges, clearly uncertain how to get to his real reason for being there.

Draco quietly leads the other wizard through the manor, out the french doors, and onto the lenae - noticing as he gestures to the unused guest seat that Weasley has already spotted Draco's wand sitting by the tea service, for one, and seems surprised. When Draco reaches toward his wand to summon a second cup, Weasley grabs it grabs it first, looks it over quickly, and murmurs an unsuccessful protego. Satisfied, he nods and pushes the wand back at Draco.

"The blocks are still on." Weasley states the obvious, and Draco is almost... almost tempted to sneer, but he remembers Azkaban all to well.

Three year's distance wasn't enough to even erase the ever-lingering chill much less dim the other unpleasant remembrances of the desolate wizarding prison. Weasley may have chased after Potter in his hit and run battles with the late dark lord; he may have suffered hour of imprisonment and torture before his rescue, and even weeks of on and off deprivation and isolation, but it paled beside Draco's experience: even the year spent in Bellatrix's captivity under the imperius curse, the loss of one of his few close friends to the fiendfyre curse that almost took his life as well, and the final battle had not been enough to prepare Draco for what followed. After a brief midnight trial, Draco had found himself portkeyed into one of the deepest levels of Azkaban that had known so many centuries of dementor presence that their soul-chilling mists had not been dispelled in the two years after the inhuman guards had abandoned the prison - nor the five years of imprisonment that followed.

Three years distance has done nothing to dispell the chill and numbness that always come over him when he remembers waking to find himself trapped in a single cell with eight other 'unwilling' death eater recruits (condemned for their involvement, but pardoned from the kiss because they had been coerced into service with threats against their families) - forced to subsist on weekly rations barely sufficient for five inactive prisoners and taunted with the random unpredictable availability of a wand, which could only be used for one spell before it was banished.

To avoid being returned to the inescapable misery and humanity decaying deprivation, no matter what Weasley says or does, no matter how infuriating or intolerable or insulting the prat... the auror gets, Draco decides - he can and will control his temper. To do otherwise would be reckless, and Draco didn't have the energy to be reckless any longer.

Instead of making any comment, he quietly pours out then selects two attractive petite fors and places them on a dessert plate with several pear slices and a section of brie and sits them before the auror then serves himself the same.

Weasley seems bemused with his passivity and more than a little smug at having such unearned courtesy, and Draco is more than slightly tempted to taunt the red-head with a haughty explanation of the petite fors and brie - as if Weasley's impoverished background would have made him unfamiliar with such small pleasures, but counters it quickly with a small self-reminder that Weasley can keep his wry glances and smirks, Draco had his freedom - made precious beyond all measure by his experience in Azkaban.

"Oi! Malfoy, I'm trying to talk to you here."

Shaking off the chill, Draco stares at Weasley's moving mouth trying to recapture the words that he was certain he must have heard, but could not reconstruct what little he had heard through his ebbing haze.

"Blast!" Weasley growls unexpectedly tossing back his tea and dropping the cup into its saucer with a discordant clink. "I told Shack that you're ... that coming here's a waste of time - as if you could or would help Harry..."

"What's this about Potter?" Draco asks in surprise, trying to focus on Weasley's rant.

"It doesn't matter, Malfoy, go back to your daydreams. I won't take up any more of your time." Weasley sneers and rises to leave.

"Weasley," Draco snaps more sharply than he intends then pauses to catch his beath and begin again. "Auror Weasley... please...I - I am honor bound to assist Potter if I can; I owe him a life debt."

Draco is surprised that Weasley doesn't know that. He would have thought that Potter would have shared ...

"Oh, I know that..." Weasily sighs, giving him a look that is almost as annoyed as it is uncomfortable as he continues "That's the only reason I let Shak talk me into comng here, but..." and trails, off his look of discomfort growing in the interim until he finally blurted out, "Look, Malfoy, you're not exactly in shape to help anyone, are you? Not even yourself."

Draco looks away, affronted by the blunt truth- made worse for the fact that Weasley wasn't actually trying to be insulting, and doubly so for the fact that he hasn't any legitimate to counter Weasley's claim. He doesn't actually need anyone to tell him that he was in quite a shoddy state: crippled in his magic by the blocks on his wand; his ever-present fear of losing the ministry's favor and finding himself back the small, chill cell; and a complete absence of guiding purpose or defining need.

When his parents had been alive, he'd had a purpose - to make them proud, to protect the family name, and to secure the future of the Malfoy line by securing a suitable partner. Now those goals were meaningless if not impossible. His parents's pride was unachievable in any meaningful fashion; they had died when he was a convict reviled by both sides - with no reasonable expectation of turning their fortunes around. Their family name was in tatters beyond anything that Draco or any descendants he might have for three generations - wizarding generations - might hope to reverse, and no likelihood of finding a prospective partner willing to tie herself to a disgraced family so that her children would spend their lives attempting to drag a nearly lineage back into proper society. No, Draco well knew that he was in a pitifully shoddy shape- nearly useless in terms of power, politics, or society.

Yet, if Weasley had even considered coming to him to help Potter - Draco could only suspect that they had most probably exhausted all other measures. Had it been anyone else, Draco might have questioned whether another had truly wanted Draco's assistance or just a scapegoat, but Weasley's loyalty was unquestionable.

"I - I don't know if I can ... or what I can do, or what brought you to me in the first place, but I am honor-bound to help Potter if possible... in anyway possible." His words are slow and halting, almost feeble, and in no way persuasive, even to his own ears, but as he waits, Draco suspects that something he's said has overcome - if only slightly. - the auror's hesitancy.

"Anyway, it's like I said," Weasley finally concedes, "Shak... Minister Shacklebolt doesn't trust me not to let our personal history color my perceptions. I'm to bring you to him, so he can assess your usefulness - for himself."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A couple of plot points that I'd thought about for this fic, included:  
> 
> 
> * Shacklebolt, having been present when Draco had been pulled from his cell in Azkaban, had seen the rough stone gouged-sketches Draco had made in the cell floor of his home, parents, and friends - remembers the talent of the sketches as well as his pity for the child whom he had been unable to protect as fully as he'd liked. (Shacklebolt and Severus had been close at one time, and he felt that he had failed his late friend in not being able to keep Draco out of Azkaban.
>   
> 
> * When Ron relates his fears for Harry, who has become a recluse, barely taking care of himself, and expressing himself almost solely through drawing grim sketches of battle scenes, late friends from Hogwarts, and dismal scenes of his early childhood, he also mentions the few 'neutral' scenes that Harry had sketched were of Draco.
>   
> 
> * Shacklebolt sees the mention as possibility of helping both young men recover by giving them a chance to connect through their art, and sends Ron to retrieve Draco, believing that despite their earlier animosity, he could trust Ron not to further traumatize Draco if there was a chance that he could help Harry. 
>   
> 
> * Draco's surprised to find Harry as stricken and tentative as himself and slowly working around the triggers that affect Harry (like being touched, approached from his blind-side, hearing rattling noises, and certain scents), he begins to teach Harry the rudiments of drawing and painting that he had been instructed in during his early childhood and first three summers from Hogwarts.
>   
> 
> * ... Thus begins a friendship.


	5. Uncertain Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco gets to see the negative effects of Harry's fame, years after the fact. 
> 
> Warnings: Established slash relationship

Summary: Draco had been content with the way things were between him and Harry - until he found an old newspaper clipping in Harry's journal.

Uncertain Trust

In as much as Draco was an inveterate Slytherin (read also sneak), he had elected not to confront Harry when he had walked in on his partner surreptitiously going though his monthly planner and copying his schedule into a planner of his own. Nor did he remark on it when Harry started to spend more of his days at home even though Draco realized that he was likely doing so to keep watch on Draco.

In every other manner that Draco considered the man, Harry had proven himself a more than adequate partner... in ways that even Draco had not expected. Despite the history of animosity between them, Harry had only ever treated Lucius with courtesy and hospitality when Draco's parents came to visit. Despite his intense and avid loathing of public appearances, Harry had attended each and every one of the book signings, cocktail parties, and promotional events that Draco's publishers required of him when a book came out - giving it the boost in publicity that they had both known Harry's presence would curry. Despite the years that Harry had spent toiling as a virtual house elf in his aunt's home, Harry had insisted on learning all of Draco's favorite dishes, decorations, preferences, and comforts, so that he could always have them available for Draco when he came home.

Even Lucius had noticed Harry's attempts, commenting recently that he would have never imagined that Gryffindors made such accommodating wives. Narcissa, who had begun to develop a fondness for Harry when she had seen the sincerity of his attempts to ensure that Draco was comfortable and happy.

Draco had been to all intents and purposes beyond content with their relationship, until he found Harry's journal, or more to the point, having glanced through it found the unconscionably critical article written by a hack from Witches Weekly, pointing out the witch's opinions of Harry's many, many (in her eyes) perceived flaws as a partner, including the Harry's lack of knowledge of Draco's schedule, his -now rare- absences from promotional events, an inability to name even one of Draco's favorite authors... and on and on and on. The more he read and the further back in the journal that he read, the more he became convinced that the Harry he woke up beside was a mask created to please all of his critics and the more he wondered how much - if any of Harry's feelings and actions - toward and for him were real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I never got this one plotted out fully, but had intended for -
> 
> * Draco to -at least initially- react negatively to the discovery until Narcissa sets him straight and gets him to confront Harry about his concerns.
> * When he does it's only to find that Harry felt no one he was close to ever criticized him - he believed because of his fame and what he'd gone through during the war - so he never knew if he was doing well enough. 
> * Harry'd come to 'rely on' the press's negative critiques, and since everyone seemed happier with that than when he was just himself, that's what he went with. 


End file.
